


Fuck the End of the World

by spicedpiano



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Apocalypse, Charles You Slut, Crack, End of the World, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicedpiano/pseuds/spicedpiano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the end of the world, and Charles and Erik want to go out with a bang.</p><p>[Just a little cracky PWP to get you through the Mayan apocalypse!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck the End of the World

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Fuck the end of the world 世界末日](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838827) by [winterbell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterbell/pseuds/winterbell)



> This seemed appropriate. :P
> 
> Thanks as ever to **Tahariel** for the excellent (and speedy) beta!

December 20.

11:11 PM.

“Make a wish,” someone – one of them – whispered. That was right before Charles’s boxers hit the floor.

It’s the end of the world in forty-nine minutes, or so they say – and Charles is drunk enough that he almost believes it, mind strung out and giddy with the very idea. _End of the world._ No more school, no more rainy Mondays. No more teachers who hate him because he sleeps through their class, no more overbearing PIs, and no more terrible first dates. 

If it actually is the end of the world, that also means this is the very last time Charles will have a cock this size up his ass. It’s also the very _first_ time he’s had a cock this size up his ass, but there’s no need to split hairs. 

He’s wanted Erik Lehnsherr since the first time he saw him: sodden wet in a black leather jacket standing in the middle of Kendall Square at two in the morning, completely alone, hands shoved in his pockets. Which was probably a good thing, because at the time he’d looked as if he might murder someone for their umbrella.

“Can I offer you a ride?” Charles had said. Impulsive, but there are worse vices.

“You’re on a bicycle,” Erik said.

“You could sit over the back wheel.”

Erik’s frown deepened.

“You’re right,” Charles said. “You’d only crush it.” A sigh, for effect. “I suppose that means we’ll have to walk.”

Erik didn’t talk much, even though it took them fifteen minutes to get to the grad housing at Ashdown. He didn’t even complain about the cold, which Charles was mostly-sure his jacket did very little to protect against.

He didn’t talk much when Charles kissed him, either. Or afterward. Just a quick sideways jerk of his head, and Charles took it as his cue to leave. 

But as it turns out, MIT’s campus is much smaller than it looks, and engineers aren’t the only ones who study in the engineering library. By now, Erik and Charles have seen quite a lot of each other. He isn’t sure if that makes them friends or not. Or if having Erik’s dick throbbing inside of him makes them lovers. The relationship dynamics of college and grad school, Charles has learned, are completely different beasts.

To be quite honest, Charles isn’t even sure if Erik fucking him makes Erik homosexual. Not that he’s been wondering or anything.

It’s the end of the world, after all.

Downstairs they’re playing some kind of fake Mayan chanting at full blast, loud enough that the floor vibrates. Someone’s spare coins are rattling on the bedside table. Though that could just as easily be due to the force of Erik’s thrusts – and over the sound of the music, no one can hear the rhythmic sound of the headboard slamming against the wall, or the slap of Erik’s balls against Charles’s bare ass, Charles’s own desperate moans.

Erik releases the headboard to curl down over Charles, bracketing him in with his forearms and kissing his neck. The new angle drags Erik’s cock against something bright and electric inside him and Charles cries out, wrapping both legs around Erik’s waist to pull him in deeper, grinding his hips up in a frantic attempt to feel _that_ again.

“Fuck,” Charles breathes into the sweaty mess of Erik’s hair and Erik’s cock jerks slightly, his teeth catching at Charles’s skin and biting down. Charles shudders in Erik’s arms, nails dragging down Erik’s spine. – He likes the idea of Erik bearing his mark tonight, even if it’s only this, fading and forgotten by Friday.

His thighs are still slick with Erik’s cum; this is the second time tonight – third, if you count Erik sucking Charles off between rounds. It makes it difficult to get a strong grip round Erik’s hips, even with Charles’s ankles locked together. God, but Charles just wants Erik to _fuck_ him, wants him to fuck the shit out of him, so hard and fast and brutal that Charles can’t walk straight for a week – he wants to feel Erik’s cum dripping down the backs of his legs when he stands up. Erik offered to use a condom, but Charles hadn’t let him. They’re both clean, and it’s December 21st tomorrow. Not that Charles thinks the world will end, not _really_. But he wants to believe it. More than anything, sometimes.

“More,” Charles demands, grinding himself against Erik to prove just how badly he wants it, his cock sliding through the pre-cum he’s already smeared across Erik’s stomach. 

Erik grunts something unintelligible and obeys, hitching Charles’s thighs a bit higher, holding on just a little too tight – and _god_ but Charles hopes it leaves a bruise. Erik’s dick is hard and getting harder – he’s close to the edge, Charles can tell – he’s hot, and Charles loves it, the way Erik just _slams_ himself into him, fucking him like he has every intention of breaking him in half, and it hurts in the best possible way, an ache that seeps warmth into the pit of Charles’s stomach and down through his legs, Charles’s toes curling with pleasure. He’s near certain he’ll come without ever having to touch himself; he feels like he’s breaking apart every time Erik’s cock hits his prostate, something hot curling tight in his balls.

“Look at you,” Erik breathes, and his eyes are dark as he lets his gaze rake down over Charles’s body. “You’re a mess, you’re - _fuck_ , you want it, you’re so fucking easy – ”

Charles doesn’t bother denying it. It’s true. _Christ_ , it’s always been true, but for Erik especially so. Charles would let Erik fuck him anywhere, anywhen, he can’t stop thinking about it – all the time, thinking about Erik taking him apart piece by piece and leaving him bare and spread open like this, flushed and sweaty. He jerks himself off at night to the thought of Erik’s long fingers sliding up and into his ass, Erik’s tongue licking a long glistening stripe down his sternum.

“Anything,” Charles gasps, and somehow he feels like he’s trying to prove it to Erik, as if the way they’re fucking isn’t proof enough. “Anything –Anything you want, I just - _fuck_ \- I need your cock, I need **you** \- ”

Erik curses in German, his nails biting down into Charles’s hips. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” he says. 

“I mean it.” Maybe Charles will regret it in the morning; he’s had a bit much to drink … and it’s intoxication of a different sort entirely, the way Erik’s skin feels under his hands when Charles cups Erik’s ass to pull him down into another thrust. “I’m yours. You have no … you have _no_ idea – ”

He can’t keep track of his own words anymore. His tongue feels foreign to him. He settles for exhaling instead, heavy and satisfied. His thighs feel weak, trembling slightly on either side of Erik’s waist. He’s so close, they both are, and after this Charles knows he’ll only want Erik again – and again – over and over, until sleep or apocalypse takes them both. 

The feel of Erik’s cock sliding in and out of his body is the only thing Charles can think about anymore – the velvety skin of Erik’s shaft and the way his cock keeps jumping every other thrust, as if it’s all Erik can do to keep himself from coming first. Charles wants him to. Wants to feel that rush of liquid warmth inside him, wants Erik to take him and use him for his own pleasure. 

Charles is dizzy, his mind strung out in a dull white buzz, like a radio turned to a dead channel, the universe condensing down to Erik’s cock and that perfect stretch in his ass.

Midnight strikes just as Charles is arching his back, exposing his throat for Erik’s teeth, all that tension in his bones tangling up and going live, lightning sizzling through his core. 

When he comes, it feels like the world is shattering apart. Or – no – like this world is colliding with another, with a hundred different worlds, Charles’s mind splintering off in all directions like a reflection in a shattered mirror. 

Something crashes to the floor and Charles is both acutely aware of the sound and deaf to it, all at the same time. 

He clings to Erik – and Erik’s coming as well, he can feel it – he can _feel_ it, actually **feel** it, not just in the cum that slicks his insides but what Erik feels as well: the impossible heat of Charles’s own body, the way Charles’s asshole clenches down around Erik’s thick shaft, and Erik’s own sense of the very fibers and tethers of the world gleaming like steel, slicing through his awareness.

Someone’s screaming, and Charles is pretty sure it’s him. 

Not pain. Something else. 

He’s drowning in Erik, in the sense of _being-Erik_ , all those razor-blade edges of Erik’s mind as lethal as they are enticing.

And beyond their room - someone on the stairs is drunk, holding onto the railing for balance – down in the kitchen, a girl has sprouted wings – out, out onto the porch, where a boy has his hands clamped over his eyes, afraid to open them, afraid of what he might do – his own sister, staring at her hand, which has gone blue and scaled. 

Too much. Charles is shaking now, and he knows Erik is too, feels it in more ways than one. 

Erik is tied into the earth by a bond that is impossible to break, as aware of the forces of the universe as he is of each and every molecule of iron in Charles’s blood, his mouth dumb and gasping against Charles’s collarbone while his back is plastered with a thousand tiny metal knick-knacks, lost change and flashdrives and jewelry and the tab from a soda can clinging to him as if they could burrow their way down into his skin and become part of his flesh.

Erik’s stroking Charles’s hair, over and over again, gentle brushes of his fingers and a soothing whisper that Charles can’t quite catch. Can’t hear Erik’s words through the clatter of his thoughts and those of everyone at the party, everyone in the house next door, the girl down the street with her night terrors, the boy one block over about to steal his first kiss. 

And … _change_ , all around them, the very fabric of the world tearing itself apart and then stitching together again, into a pattern that had always been there but never visible, not unless you knew how to look. Infinite forms of variation. Of mutation. 

It’s beautiful, and terrifying, and Charles wants to bury himself inside it, to lock onto some shimmering mind and spread his roots out across the universe until he’s lost all sight of himself, until he is not Charles but now Everyman, woven in and through thoughts like a single golden thread connecting the entire world. 

_Come back to me_ , a man says. Or thinks. Or whispers, some low cosmic echo, belonging to no one and to everyone all at once.

His own body is distant, but he still feels it: the warm press of someone’s mouth to his. Like a memory, or a dream. He only pays any attention at all because of the mind that’s attached to it. Lovely – bladed, and it somehow leaves him with the taste of copper in his mouth. Mmm. He could settle into this mind, too, slinking through the shadows around its edges and stretching himself out just beneath its iron surface, the delicious crackle of static every time their skin touches, Charles’s hair standing at the back of his neck.

“Erik,” he murmurs.

Erik makes a strange, throaty sound and kisses him again, hard enough to jar Charles back into his own body. His limbs don’t feel nearly as heavy as he’d feared they might. 

“I felt you,” Erik says a moment later. His cock is still inside Charles’ ass. “You were in my head. How did you do that?”

Charles laughs, breathless. “I don’t know. How did you – ” he gestures at the room, at the metal stuck to Erik’s skin, the brass light fixture that fell to the floor but is now hovering several inches above it, along with a desk lamp and a clarinet case. 

“I don’t know, I just – the metal, I could _sense_ it all of the sudden, and it … called to me.” Erik shakes his head, a thin smile on his lips, incredulous at his own words. “It sounds - ”

“Incredible,” Charles finishes for him. 

Erik lets out a small breath. “Yes.”

“Sexy, actually.”

Charles smirks, arching a brow as he peels someone’s wallet chain from where it’s looped itself round Erik’s neck. The links trail after Erik’s body, and Charles gets the feeling that if he let go too soon it’d snap back toward Erik’s skin again. The tension lets up at arm’s length, and Charles drops the chain to the floor. 

Erik touches the side of Charles’s head, fingers only just grazing his temple. Charles’s eyes briefly flutter shut; it feels almost like falling asleep, the gentle undertow of other minds.

“Stay with me,” Erik says, and of course, Charles has to obey.

He opens his eyes again and Erik lets his hand trail away, down the line of Charles’s cheekbone to trace the part of his lips instead. 

Charles wants Erik to mean it. He wants Erik to want him to stay. With him. In every sense of the word. He knows he could suss out Erik’s intent in a fraction of a second if he really wanted, but he’s almost afraid to look.

He can still feel him. It’s less clear now that he’s consciously trying to keep out of Erik’s head – like standing next to an electric fence, able to hear the hum of power but not daring to touch. It’s a jumble of emotions: fascination, fear, desire, and the lingering weight of satiation. 

“Erik,” Charles says, “when I told you you could have everything - ”

“I know.” Erik kisses the corner of his mouth, and Charles can feel his pulse pounding throughout his entire body, heart like a bird trapped inside his chest. “And if you offered it to me, I would take it. Anything you were willing to give, and I would still want more. Which is why I warned you.”

_Don’t make promises you can’t keep._

“I meant it. I _mean_ it. Because I – Erik, you have to understand me, I have always … I told you I wanted this, and what I meant was, I’ve _always_ wanted this. You.” 

The words are coming out all wrong, but somehow Erik is smiling all the same - _grinning_ , exposing what is really far too many teeth. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“You _know_ what.”

Charles’s cheeks are burning, but he refuses to look away, keeps his eyes on Erik’s and their minds so close that he knows he’s in danger of falling so deep into Erik that he can never find his way out again. 

“I’ve always loved you,” Charles manages.

For a moment, there’s just silence, Erik frowning down at him with the same look on his face as he has when he’s trying to solve a particularly interesting proof. Then:

“Knew it.”

“You - ”

“ _Knew_ it.” Erik laughs, and kisses him, a dozen times, peppering his skin and letting his mouth linger too-long just below Charles’s ear, his breath warm on Charles’s neck. 

Charles isn’t sure what to make of that, doesn’t know if it’s reciprocation or just Erik’s way of distracting them from the point. If it’s the latter, it almost manages to work - but then Erik is drawing back again, his eyes opening.

“Well,” Charles says, feeling a bit awkward, both wishing and not-wishing he could take his words back. “The world didn’t end.”

“That was just an excuse anyway,” Erik says.

Charles nods, and watches Erik’s finger tracing small concentric circles on his shoulder. 

“An excuse,” Charles says, “because you always wanted to fuck me, and this was as good a reason as any.”

“No. An excuse because I’ve always wanted to fuck you – that part’s true enough. But the real reason is because I’ve always been in love with you, too.”

Charles blinks.

And then he stretches out the tiniest filament of thought, and pings it against the metal surface of Erik’s mind. It echoes back: _True._

“Aren’t you worried that I might be making you feel that way, though? With my new … ability, such that it is.”

“If you are, I raise no objection.”

“I don’t think I am, for what it’s worth.”

“And I _know_ you’re not.”

Charles smiles, lifting a hand to touch Erik’s cheek, still too-warm from earlier. “You sound awfully certain.”

Erik shrugs one shoulder; a silver wristwatch slips off his skin and falls onto the bed. “I am,” he says. “As I said, I’ve always loved you.” He kisses Charles, long and sweet, and his lips move against Charles’s, the words silent - though Charles hears them all the same. “Some things never change.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [End of the World (the Erik Lehnsherr Was Right remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/801931) by [not_who_we_are](https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_who_we_are/pseuds/not_who_we_are)
  * [Changed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2073831) by [cygnaut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnaut/pseuds/cygnaut)




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